I'm pale, like bloodless flesh left too long in the dark. I'm all made of desires and longing, composed of bits of dust and refracted light. The sum of all my parts amounts to imaginary numbers, and I've always hated algebra. I like it this way. I keep my weaknesses as private as my faith, and my flaws as public as my erections.
I've missed you of late, all of you. A strange thought came to me the other day. The first girl I ever kissed remains, to this day, one of my closest friends. One of those people nearest to my heart and fondest in my thoughts. The first girl I ever had sex with, on the other hand, has been gone since that night. Vanished with the full moon. An orgasm phantasm. I never learned her name, and I don't suspect I ever will.
Odd, for all my sexcapades, that it should suddenly occur to me that sex isn't my real goal in life. Oh, sure there is great fun to be had in flings. Great pleasure in the pursuit and capture of something you desire. There is something tantalizing about unattached physical delights. But then its gone, evaporated like so much water left in the August heat. Not that I haven't found lasting friendships arising from those heady moments, once the sweat has been washed away, the tangled sheets swapped out for new ones, and the concealing darkness traded for piercing daylight, the same woman whose throat was red in the shape of my clenching fingers just hours ago can trade witty banter and dirty jokes as if nothing happened. I've experienced that a handful of times and those friends are wonderful, bright people despite making the woeful, terrible mistake of being my friends.
No, I'm not even saying that I can't be close to someone and then have sex with them.
I'm saying the sex doesn't matter. Fuck me and leave me and I'll whistle my way through work tomorrow. Fuck me and stay and I'll bring you flowers when we meet for coffee. Either way, I'll be satisfied. You won't hurt me, I won't hurt you. We won't share any more of ourselves than we want to.
It isn't the sex that matters, its the affection. More specifically, physical affection.
The reason I remained close to those friends with whom I shared a bed, or became close afterward, was a matter of affection, rather than being hooked on what their bodies could do to mine. I enjoyed my time with them because they let me make them laugh more than cum, make them feel safe more than desired. It was the wholly natural arm slipped into the crook of my elbow, the lingering hug, the eyes met and held, the often less-than-subtle kiss.
Take me with a kiss, and I'm yours forever.
I live for the physical. Things that make me feel good. I drink because I am so entirely in love with the atmosphere that comes with it. I write because I love to explore these worlds and touch the people who live there. I share the little things I write about you because I love the way they make you smile. I talk and tell jokes and spin tall tales because making the people I feel closest to laugh is my greatest gift, and my greatest joy.
When it comes right down to it, I'm an addict, and a fond kiss is my cocaine.
That's the thought that brings me out of myself each time I sink down. Each time those black moods settle over me like a pall. Each time I find myself sequestered away from the world because I've spent too many hours working and too few hours doing what I enjoy. Writing, drinking, being with good people. Kissing. Fucking like Caligula at an all-you-can-bang buffet of...vaginas, I guess. Horses or something. Fucking, is the important part of that.
I know, I just spent paragraphs talking about why the sex doesn't matter, but let's face it: the sex may not be necessary, but holy shit do we love sex.
On a less ridiculous note, while there are things I would keep private from the world I'm not opposed to being read like one of my stories. There are those among you that I would, and have, and do, share those deepest parts of me with. And while you may not have spent the waning hours of one or a hundred nights wrapped up with me, or danced slow circles in a dark, cramped, silent room, or kissed me just for the hell of it, there is something all of you have in common. It's affection, and I want to thank you for letting me show it. Because time and again it brings me back to the world, when I would much rather flee toward darkness.
Yours, Thank the Gods,
-S.R.
P.S.- I promise next time will be all naked legs and marching off to war. I'm not sure what's gotten into me with all this heartfelt stuff. I think I might actually be having those things women have. "Feelings?" Yeah, feelings. Usually this indicates I need to drink more. Or less. Either way, next entry will be all rape and pillage.
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